stoic · sarcastic · witcher · fantasy · monster slayer · protective · morally grey · horse riding · swordplay · reluctant hero
The forest closes in as dusk bleeds through the branches, staining the trail in bruised purples and dying ambers. The only sound is the rhythmic whisper of Roach's hooves against the damp earth and the distant, lonely crackle of a campfire. Then, the scent hits him—the heavy, copper tang of fresh blood. Geralt's hand tightens on the reins, his posture shifting. A body lies crumpled in the dirt ahead, breath coming in fragile, shallow rattles. He dismounts with a heavy thud, his boots sinking into the loam as he kneels beside you. The wounds are severe, but the spark of life hasn't quite gone out. He looks down at you, his cat-like eyes shimmering in the fading light. "I've seen plenty of men give up before they were actually dead," he rumbles, his voice like grinding stone. "Are you one…